


How the Grinch became a Tradition

by BardicRaven



Series: Furr-ther Tales of the Grinch [2]
Category: How the Grinch Stole Christmas! - Dr. Seuss
Genre: Gen, Traditions, Who Culture, cultural origins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 02:16:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8826490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BardicRaven/pseuds/BardicRaven
Summary: Once it was a night. Later... it was a part of Christmas.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fenellaevangela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenellaevangela/gifts).



The Grinch carefully packed his ramshackle sleigh with all he would need for the night to come. Bags, sacks, of all sizes and varieties were piled high, as was enough rope to go around it all and tie it down securely when he was finished.

The only difference was that now he had a team of sturdy Who-Horses to pull it, and his Faithful Dog got to ride on top and stay there, his tongue hanging out and his nostrils open wide to catch every exciting sniff there was to be sniffed along their way.

He wasn't the dog that had ridden with them that fateful night, no. That dog had passed away years ago, after a long and happy life, and was buried in a sacred space on Mount Crumpet.

No, this was a different dog, tho' of the same bloodline. That was part of the ritual, as was the ride itself.

For now, this ride was no longer of anger, fear, and jealousy. No, now this ride was an important part of the hollyday, a sacred part of the litany.

Below him, he could hear the townsfolk beginning the carol. Good, it was almost time to begin. He looked around him. No, there was nothing else needed. All would be well.

He closed the door behind him, letting the memories stay behind in the carefully-dusted room. He didn't come here much any more, save at this time of year. He didn't need to. He had both home and workroom in the town below now, and found that he didn't mind the interruptions nearly as much as he thought he would have.

As much as he used to.

The carol reached a rousing chorus and died away.

He flicked the reins against the horses' necks, felt them start to move.

It was time.

* * *

Down in the village, all was quiet. People had gone to sleep early, so as not to interfere with his coming. All part of the ritual.

He crept from house to house with his bags and his sacks. One thing that was so now that hadn't been then, is that now, doors were left open to him. It had become a thing of good luck to have the Grinch visit you on this night, and to have prevented his coming the worst combination of rudeness and misfortune.

So he walked in freely, quietly creeping from house to house and fireside to fireside. He still took everything, but carefully now. It would all be returned later, and if it was rudeness and misfortune to prevent his entering, so too, was it so for him to break or harm anything.

And so he went from house to house, taking presents and decorations, putting them carefully into labelled sacks, tying everything down so that it could withstand the journey back to his former home.

At the last house, this year's Cindy Lou Who, a great honor given to a little girl of about her age as she was then, would come to him and ask him what he was doing, as the original had done all those years before.

What changed now was what was asked and answered.

"Why are you here?" she would ask.

"To remind us all." he would answer.

"Of what?"

"Of what's important."

"And what's that?"

"Not this. Not these." He would gesture around at the decorated room, the tree piled high with ornaments, bulging with presents underneath.

"Why not?" Always a confusion, often mixed with a bit of petulance. He'd smile at that. He, too, had been young once, remembered what it was like to believe that the presents were all, the physical reflection of love enough.

"Because the things that are the most important can't be seen."

"Why's that?"

"Because they are things like love and hope and joy. You know the carols?"

"Yes."

"Like that."

At which point, they would often be confused, these Cindy Lou Whos, being only small children, and yet, underneath, they would understand. And since they had been warned by their parents that the Grinch would be taking their presents, but only for a time, and that they needed to be okay with it, as they would get them back if they were good, they would accept the glass of water and the tucking in.

Then, sometimes, they would share with the Grinch special things. Things they'd gotten, or thought they had, things they wanted, things they hoped for, both under the tree and around it.

He would listen patiently, for this was part of the ritual too. He'd not had anyone to listen when he was young, and he knew how much he would have liked it back then himself.

He held their words as sacred, tucking them away in his heart as he tucked them in, then went quietly back to his work.

When the ramshackle sleigh was loaded up, he flicked the reins over the Who-Horses' backs again and away they went up to his old haunts on Mount Crumpet.

There wasn't the drama of that first ride. This wasn't like that. It was ritual now, every move planned and understood. It was a play now, a morality play, a mummer's tale. A story to remind them all of what was important and what was not.

Once the ride was completed and they were back to the place-that-used-to-be-home on the top of Mount Crumpet, he unhitched the Who-Horses, led them back to their stable, curried them, gave them a good feed of hot oats to compensate them for having gone out in the bitter cold, and for the fact that their temporary home was nothing like the good warm stalls they lived in the rest of the year down in the town below.

Then he went back and unlocked his door one more time, to go inside and sleep as best he could on a bed that no longer was home.

* * *

The next morning, as always, he was awakened by a loud, often imperious, knock on the door.

"Who is it?" he would grumble, knowing the answer before it came.

"I am the Mayor of Whoville," the clarion call would return. "And I am here to ask for the return of our presents and trees. Our _bambookas_ and _wistookas_. Our baubles and bangles. And above all, our Roast Beast!"

"Why?" he would snarl back, not entirely because of the play, the form and fitting of the ritual. It was also because he had slept badly, away from everyone, surrounded by reminders of what he chosen to set aside.

"Because Cook needs it to prepare for the Feast!" the Mayor would shout.

At which point the Grinch would get up and shamble to the door, unlock it and ask the most important question (to him) of the day.

"Do you have the Who-Coffee?"

The look in his eyes was often enough to make all but the most stalwart mayors take a step back, saying hastily, "Why yes, I do, Mr. Grinch. Right here in this Who-Flask. Drink up and Merry Christmas!"

He would grab the flask, down it, return it to its owner, and say the words that the town was waiting to hear:

"I'll be down just as soon as I hitch up the Who-Horses. Would you like a ride down?"

"No, thanks." the Mayor would say, looking a bit nervously at the ramshackle sleigh piled hight/high. "I have my own way, thank you." A quick shudder at the notion of riding  a sleigh down the steep mountainside. "I'll just take the Roast Beast and be off."

The only thing that would change was whether the Mayor would have been riding a Who-Horse or walking. Either way, they would quickly take off after a quick exchange of packages – the Roast Beast for a basket piled high with things that tantalized with their doughy, just-baked, aroma.

After making a quick meal from it, followed by more of the Who-Coffee, in a plain bottle this time, he would go out to the stable again, rouse the horses, give them a quick feed and groom, promising them more when they got back to town, then hitch them up to the sleigh.

Then came the fun part, for those who defined ‘fun’ as ‘insanely difficult and dangerous, but with a delicious adrenaline thrill to it’. Mount Crumpet was steep and rocky, treacherous at the best of times, which snow piled high and a heavy sleigh did not make.

But still, every year, they made it safely down. The Grinch wasn’t always sure how, but he was grateful that they did. As he neared the village, he would hear the sounds of the Whos singing, their voices raised in carol, welcoming him home, proclaiming their gratitude for all the Goodness in their worlds, which they acknowledged was plenty.

Cheering would blend itself in with the carol as he neared, to be welcomed by an open Circle, as he neared, then stopped at the village Tree. It was the one thing he left alone every year – if for no other reason than it was tall and took the entire village to decorate in the first place – and the ornaments sparkled the more brightly for being the only ones there.

As the carol came to its end, his own voice joining in the final chorus, the cheering would begin, as the villagers lined up to help unload the sleigh.

* * *

There was no pushing or shoving. All took place in its own time. Everyone knew there would be enough for all, so there was no need to hurry. The one thing that was done was to unpack the food first – the communal parts going to the feast-hall, the rest back to the private homes of the villagers.

Outside of that, everybody chipped in and everything was unloaded. Then there was a brief break as people decorated and opened, inviting the Grinch to visit this home and that. There was always a present for him as well – another part of the tradition.

He’d become the Grinch because he hadn’t felt part of the village, so they did their best to reassure him that yes, in fact, he was, and a beloved part at that. From the village pariah, he’d become everybody’s favorite uncle, a role he relished as much as they loved pampering him.

And the Who-Horses were not left out, either. Every year, the children competed to see who would be given the honor of taking care of them that year. The winners would take horse and sleigh to the village stable, put the sleigh away, give the horses a good rub-down and a welcome meal of hot grain and oats, and generally make sure they were well seen-to.

Then they would go and join in the fun. Goodies were always saved for them, so they never had to fear being left out, even if they stayed long for one reason or another.

And so the day would progress, with feasting and fun, the temporary privations reminding them all of what was truly important – love and gratitude – and what was fun – the toys and trinkets.

It was a ritual now, this ride, one that varied only in the smallest parts. It was a ritual that he was proud to participate in.

And now, it was time to begin.

* * *

As he drove down Mount Crumpet to begin his work anew, he thought of Christmases past and future, and most of all, present. The presents he’d been given over the years – of friendship, of trust, of love, of caring – and the presents he strove to give in return – love, loyalty, luck.

There had been great prosperity since he’d started his yearly Rides. Just as his heart had expanded three sizes back then, the town’s wealth and love alike had expanded three-fold as well.

What would the next Ride, the next Year, bring?

There was only one way to find out.

It lay in the town below.


End file.
